


words without thoughts never to heaven go

by xiaolongbaobei



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst and Tragedy, Bruce Wayne Makes Bad Decisions, Character Death (both physical and metaphorical), Gen, Jason Todd is a Talon, Tim Drake is Trying His Best, still a lot of literature references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23830639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiaolongbaobei/pseuds/xiaolongbaobei
Summary: Tim pauses for a second. He wants to ask: Jason? Can you hear me? Is any part of you still around there? I’m so afraid, Jason and I have no fucking idea what to do. I don’t know how to save Bruce for you. I know that you loved him. Were you happy here? How long was it, the time when you thought he placed the sun in the sky and when you were sick of his hypocritical ways? He couldn’t forget you, nobody could and you haunt me in my dreams still. And in my dreams, you adore neapolitan ice cream and loved books and we were brothers.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	words without thoughts never to heaven go

**Author's Note:**

> okay so u know how pre-2005 bb jason visits tim a lot in his dreams? and how ghost!jason visits alfred and has tea? and how bruce is mentally Not Great after jason dies? yeah. this fic is a culmination of those tensions. also tim is also an unreliable narrator. and high key inspired by ts eliots the wasteland, a rly great poem!! unbeta'd and a bit unpolished. if there's any grammar mistakes let me know!!
> 
> warnings: torture, brainwashing, graphic depictions of violence, unreliable narrator, bruce wayne making terrible decisions, character death (both metaphorical and literal)

Once he was an ordinary boy who grew up in a mansion and had a father, a boy who adored chili dogs and Neapolitan ice cream. Once he was a bird flying above the skyscrape of Gotham city, his laughter chasing away the night, a demigod of light and youth and joy. Once he had a father who loved him more than life itself, once he had a savior who swore that he was the sun to his night, once he was called Jason and he was loved, once he was  _ loved _ — 

Once he went to Ethiopia, once he was blown up while trying to rescue his mother, once he returned from the dead — 

But now there is only darkness though the darkness is not empty but instead full of talons and daggers and claws. Knives to draw blood and cries that he realizes are his own. He does not remember how long he has been trapped here, tied down to a gurney until he screams himself hoarse. He is nobody, he is nothing. No — he is  _ Jason _ and his father is Bruce. Please don’t hurt me, he prays to whoever is out there, please don’t hurt him — please, please, please  _ Bruce _ — 

The shadows are upon him again. This is an abattoir, this is a slaughterhouse; he thinks of Bruce, he prays to Batman — there’s the sound, the sickening squelch of torn flesh, the bitter warmth of blood,  _ his _ blood, spilling down. He’s blinded, it is too cold, it is hard to  _ remember _ but he does if only because if he forgets then Bruce will be alone. 

Every time he wakes, he forgets a little more. He forgets his name, he forgets his favorite color, he forgets what neapolitan ice cream tastes like, he forgets the sound of a robin’s trill — he does not forget Bruce. He will forget his own name before he forgets about Bruce. He clings to it, he cannot lose this, the only sacrosanct thing in this wretched place. 

He hopes for deliverance, for Bruce to come — he cries up to the darkness with cracked lips and a prayer on his tongue. This time will be different. This is not a warehouse in Ethiopia; he knows that they are still in Gotham. Jason tells himself very quietly that Batman knows every inch of Gotham. He’ll find Jason and bring him home and everything will be alright again.

One day, they bring him to a room. It is hard to see but they force his eyes open regardless. There is a calendar, he has been here for a year, they tell him. There is a glass of water next to him, one of them, a tall, slim man in a mask offers him a cup and forces him to drink. They tell him that his name is Jason, that he used to be Robin — that they’ve figured everything out a long time ago. They have been waiting for him, he says in a hushed, soft voice. They will be his new family now because Batman — 

Then they hand him a photograph. 

There’s a Robin there but it’s not him, he’s pretty sure of that. His hair looks far more tamed than Jason’s own wild curls. This Robin’s taller, he’s probably paler and his smile is different, it’s more calculating. More like Bruce’s smiles. The details are all wrong and he wonders for a moment if it’s his memory failing him before the man, sensing his hesitation, sighs — 

He tells Jason that he’s been  _ replaced _ . The man’s tone is kind enough. It’s been a year. The boy’s name is Tim Drake and Jason recalls staring up at the billboards of Drake Industries. Remember the parties and the child who would always gaze up at him with a too-knowing gleam in his eyes. Remembers the poisonous jealousy whenever Bruce would compliment him — he remembers everything for a brief second, the one  _ photograph _ hurting him far more than knives and blades and beatings ever could. 

It’s a lot easier to forget after that. 

-

Tim knows that he’s not alone in this cave. 

Bruce is restless tonight, vacillating; it’s really  _ terrifying _ like this. Tim’s pretty sure that Robin’s supposed to make quips, but he’s never once really managed to make Batman laugh. The rooms are too large and too empty. It’s better than when Tim first got here, he likes to believe that he’s impervious. Tim’s good at compartmentalizing, he throws himself into work, into research and it helps him think, help him clear his head, until the only thing he thinks about are the various anonymous IP addresses, the unnumbered accounts in the Caymans, the words of a conspiracy theorist, and the death of a local politician. 

He’s long since trained his eyes to read in the dark, especially since there’s only one bright spot of light in the cave. It shines down atop a shrine to a boy who never came home, a boy who Tim considers a friend, possibly a  _ brother _ — 

The trail’s getting cold and it’s a little frustrating so Tim tears his eyes from the page. He watches Batman instead. Batman’s eyes are staring at the case and something sharp flickers across the chiaroscuro of his face, something like  _ longing _ before it’s obscured by shadows again. Tim’s never had anyone look at him like that and truthfully, he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t want anyone to. There’s peace enough for the dead and none for the living. 

Tomorrow he’ll head back to the Titans. He’s only really here more out of obligation than anything else — Tim’s never really had a capacity for Batman’s sense of melodrama. Tim’s steady and functional and knows while he’s fucked up to a degree, he knows the dangers firsthand of dragging others into his tragedy. 

That night, Jason comes to him for the first time. 

In his dreams, the two of them are sitting in the massive library of Wayne Manor. The lights are shining bright, cheerily so as he recalls from the glittering parties he’s been to as a child. Since Tim’s become Robin, he’s never been back there — the doors are locked. He had asked Alfred once before except the kindly butler had only sighed and said that it had been Jason’s space. But in his dreams, things are different — there’s a warm fire at the grill and it’s  _ comfortable,  _ comforting _.  _

“It’s about time you came to visit, I was so  _ lonely _ — “ 

Jason is sitting atop the great big armchair and gives him the biggest grin ever like he’s been waiting for him. He’s curly haired and bright eyed and has a mischievous smile upon his face and turns his dancing eyes up at Tim. “Yanno, when I was Robin — I went  _ everywhere _ I wanted,” he says in a boyish Gothamite drawl, like a  _ dare  _ and his eyes are indulgent as he pats the spot next to him. In Tim’s dreams, Jason is  _ small _ and he’s shorter than Tim — there’s more than enough room for the two of them to share. “Brucie wouldn’t ever dream of stopping me, even though he’d always call me  _ reckless _ — he loved that,”  _ He loved me.  _

Tim wants to say:  _ But you’re dead because of that _ but Jason’s smiling so brilliantly at him and Tim’s never had anyone smile like that at him before. So Tim takes a step forward and joins him. The sunlight dapples over their skin like gold dust as Jason picks back up a book that’s been lying on his lap. It’s ‘I Capture the Castle’ and Tim’s sure that he’s had to read that in class before but it’s different when Jason’s reading it. He does voices and makes funny faces at certain passages and his enthusiasm is so infectious that Tim finds himself smiling too. 

But the thing about dreams is they’re always bittersweet when they end. Tim can sense it, the slow drift back to wakefulness. Outside their window, the sun is rising, the skies are a brilliant purple and pink like the cotton candy that Tim’s always wanted to try and Jason’s voice is growing softer, hoarse with tiredness. Tim reaches forward and grabs his shoulder and Jason pauses, looks at him in confusion — 

“Will you stay?” Tim asks. “Can I — can I come to visit you again?” He tries to keep the desperation from his voice; Tim’s not too sure about dream logic. He’s sixteen, he hasn’t believed in fairytales for a long time anymore but it seems important to ask for permission. Jason only gives him a kind smile and shifts in his seat. 

“Of course,  _ Timbo, _ ” he says, grinning, the nickname rolling off his tongue, Jason’s Gotham accent thick and welcoming. “I was waiting for you, —  _ us, _ Robins gotta stick together, since we’re family an’ I know, _ first hand _ , that Bruce isn’t great at talking an’ all. I’m su’posed to be your older brother which means, it’s my job to look out for  _ you _ — ” Something grows regretful in Jason’s bright, luminous eyes and Tim feels his eyes prickle at the fondness in his words. 

Tim nods. “Yeah, I’d like that very much,” he says, feeling a little bit shy. “Jay,” he adds and he’s rewarded with a wide, splitting grin as if to say,  _ yep _ , that’s me. They’ve only a few minutes left and Tim closes his eyes and listens to Jason ramble about the best way to prepare hot chocolate until the soft library blinks out of existence and Tim wakes. 

-

Jason only comes when Tim’s staying at the Manor. 

It’s a logic that makes too much sense and Tim’s pissed at himself for taking too long to figure it out. 

After the case with the politician, he bids Bruce and Alfred farewell and heads back to Titan’s tower. But he doesn’t dream of the library, instead he dreams of a long hall of doors and him, opening each one only to be greeted with emptiness. He dreams of Titans tower but Jason’s not there. It makes sense because from Dick’s recollections, Jason’s only been to Titan’s tower a few times and always as a guest. This isn’t home for him, not as if it had been home for Dick and now home to Tim. Jason’s home had always been Wayne Manor. 

Tim Drake’s greatest strength is that he knows his limits and he’s content with that. He knows where he belongs and it’s here with the Titans. But he can’t stop thinking about the boy in the library, the sad turn of Jason’s expression, how lonely  _ Jason _ says he’s been. It reminds him of another young boy whose life changed visiting the circus one day and meeting a young acrobat named Dick Grayson. Whose life changed after meeting  _ another _ Robin who gave him the biggest smile ever and took him to grab chili dogs after rescuing Tim from kidnappers. So instead Tim tells his compatriots that he’s got another mission lined up in Gotham and packs up a bag.

He’s here to test a hunch more than anything else. It’s very likely that the dream has been nothing but a  _ dream _ and that the promises he made to Jason occupied only those brief moments in space and time. But dream logic doesn’t necessarily work as they do in reality. Tim’s always been good about figuring stuff out, he’s always been a curious child. 

He makes the ride up to the Manor when it’s already getting dark. 

Since Alfred has already gone to bed, Tim makes his greetings to a silent Batman before heading up the stairs. He’ll help patrol Gotham or probably visit Dick tomorrow night, Bludhaven isn’t too far from Gotham proper after all. Crime’s slow when it’s chilly outside which means that Gotham’s relatively safe — or as safe as it can be. The mobsters and ordinary level criminals are all inside their fancy manors and clubs. Before Tim goes to his room, he turns towards the door to the library. It’s locked. Tim doesn’t know what he is expecting. But nevertheless, there’s an anticipation rising up in his chest. 

He likes his solitude, normally. He loves his teammates and Dick Grayson and Alfred but there’s something to be said for being alone with just his thoughts. But this time — 

He is not disappointed. 

Jason’s there in his dreams again, sitting in his armchair with a copy of Voltaire’s  _ Candid _ propped open. He’s in his Robin uniform with a red blanket covering his shoulders, draped and reminiscent of wings. Jason, engrossed in his book, doesn’t seem to register Tim’s appearance and Tim’s floored by just how young he looks like this. Jason died when he was sixteen but in his pictures in the papers and in Tim’s own recollections — there are no pictures of Jason in the Manor — he looks to be closer to fourteen. Tim’s read studies about malnutrition and how growing up in a stressful environment stunts growth, but those books always seems a little bit too  _ clinical _ especially since — 

There’s two cups of cocoa resting on the table next to Jason

It’s his dream but it seems polite to wait to be invited in. Tim doesn’t wait too long though because there’s a glint of mischief in Jason’s eyes before shrugging off the charade and pulling Tim into a  _ hug _ . Jason’s hugs feel a little bit like Dick’s, a gentle soothing touch of comfort, except his arms are smaller but they’re no less warm and friendly; the kind of hug that Robins are supposed to offer, except this one’s for — 

“Tim!” Jason sounds  _ delighted _ . “You finally came,” Like there was any question, Tim thinks to himself. He allows himself to grin back. “Have one, I wasn’t sure how you liked it -”

Perhaps it’s Tim’s dream but the hot chocolate is  _ perfect _ . Two marshmallows with rich creamy soy milk. He takes a sip before turning his attention back to Jason’s expectant smile. 

“Yeah,” he says, “We had a few missions back at Titans Tower,” 

With more warmth than Tim could ever imagine, Jason reaches forward and traces a new scar on his arm. He hadn’t been careful enough with Ra’s assassins, a dagger had punctured through the kevlar but it hadn’t been a big deal. 

Jason only gives him a stern look, a little reminiscent of Batman’s. “You were hurt,” he says, in the same voice that Batman would always give him whenever he messed up. It’s not a tone that he’s fond of hearing, like he’s failed a test and the next one’ll be the end of his tenure. And it’s a little bit like Dick’s too, full of worry and a little bit with fear, as if Tim didn’t make a pact with justice and desperation and the night and trades his youth and his life to fight monsters for the rest of his life. And Tim forgets for a moment that this isn’t Bruce — that this isn’t Dick, and he misspeaks. 

“Yeah, Robins get hurt,” Tim retorts because they had all fretted over him and he feels awful when Jason pulls away, his face almost hardening up with regret, so full of sorrow. 

Jason’s looking at him again. “Yeah, I guess — “ His shoulders droop and Tim’s swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” Tim says immediately. Jason nods, swallows the grief down. Straightens up. 

“Yeah, no problem — but they are a  _ handful _ sometimes, aren’t they?” He says and his eyes are laughing again. “And they  _ worry _ but — who in their right minds send kids to fight in  _ shorts _ , I was so fucking cold all the damn time and the color scheme, oh my god — you know our job is to basically act as a distraction so that Batman can take ‘em out right?”

Like we’re basically walking targets.

It’s something that Tim’s figured out a long time ago. “Yeah,” he says, “My uniform’s a little bit different though,” he says, a little bit proudly, because he designed it himself. Robin’s in heavy kevlar now, a force to be reckoned with and he thinks Jason would have approved — even though, in his mind, there’s still the image of a laughing youth, sailing against the stark cityscape of Gotham city. 

Jason curls back up in his massive arm chair and beckons Tim to join him. Tim’s taller now but he curls up closer, pulls his own knees in and Jason rearranges the blankets to fit the both of them. “I’d love to hear all about it,” Jason says and Tim gives him a grin. 

“ _ Well _ — first off, the material’s a little bit different. Dick thought that it was tarnishing the legacy and stuff but he ended up agreeing with me,“ 

When Tim was a child there had been moments where he’d talk to himself, trying to understand a concept or explain something to himself. He knows that this is his  _ dream _ , that more than likely, it’s just his subconscious talking. Tim thinks it’s always been his greatest strength, to see through illusions whether actual or  _ self-imposed _ , so he tells himself that as he explains his uniform, his new utility belt to Jason who’s nodding and then gives both legitimate suggestions to make the uniform more aerodynamic and funny ones like actually adding  _ wings _ to the uniform. 

“You know B flies around all the time okay, you could be like  _ Icarus _ except not crash into the sun and stuff. I mean we go out at night so the metaphor doesn’t really hold — but wings, Timbo —  _ WINGS _ !! “ 

Tim pauses to consider it a little bit, it  _ would _ create extra weight on the uniform but there is a merit — then he turns and sees the expression on Jason’s face, like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “You’re fucking with me aren’t you?”

Jason relents. “Yeah,” he says, easily. “But you were  _ thinking _ it,” 

After the room fades gently out of existence and Tim wakes to the soft gleam of the morning sun, he heads down the stairs for breakfast. Alfred is awake, as if he already knows and there’s two cups of hot cocoa resting on the breakfast table. There’s a sense of  _ deja vu _ as Tim stares at the two cups and then to Alfred, who looks as if he’s seen a ghost. He recovers quickly though before taking a seat. 

“Hey Alfred,” he greets warmly because even if he’s not sure about his relationship with Bruce, Alfred has been nothing but warm and loving towards him. He takes one of the cups, it’s made with two marshmallows and when he takes a sip, it tastes exactly as it had done in his dream. Tim operates in the realm of reality and the realistic explanation is that Alfred knows, as he always has,  _ everything _ . 

But nevertheless, Tim's heart hammers against his chest. He stares at Alfred's steadiness, the faint quirk of his brow and pauses for a second, picking his words carefully. He feels like he’s a child again, trying to capture a thought with a vocabulary that he doesn’t quite understand. “C-can you — ” he pauses because while Tim knows that this house is full of ghosts, there’s one that he can’t quite speak — he thinks of a laughing boy, a mischievous smile, loose curls and the scent of old leather books. Tim’s voice trembles. “See him too?”

Alfred sighs, lament and regret forlorn upon his face but there’s so much love in his tone that it hurts Tim’s chest. “Yes, I can see Master Jason. We sometimes talk about you, you know, when the birds are singing. It’s those liminal moments between dawn and dusk when he comes to me. I tell him about the garden that I’m building since Master Jason’s always loved flowers and gardening. It’s never been the same, the garden’s falling apart. Sometimes, I think the boy’s still playing pranks on me sometimes, I swear or sometimes he’s trying to help. I found a few tulip bulbs and bags of perennial seeds — I — spring’s coming, I think he would have wanted me to ... to — ”

Tim wants to ask how Alfred knows, he wants to ask about Alfred’s conversations with Jason — Jason likes books and Alfred’s one of the most educated people he knows. He knows from the way the butler pauses next to Jason’s door, the soft, worried glances that he gives to Tim whenever Tim returns to the cave with injuries, his taciturn disapproval aimed at Batman sometimes. He knows that Alfred loves Jason, probably more than Alfred’ll ever love Tim and it almost feels like he’s an interloper in Alfred’s private memories. Jason’s a puzzle that he still doesn’t quite understand, it defies all logic, everything that Tim Drake’s been taught, everything he knows. But he’d like to think that he and Jason are friends,  _ brothers _ in a way. 

There’s a small voice in his head that chides him for this, that scoffs at how lonely he must be to conjure up the ghost of a dead bird; the cause of the abject misery of Wayne Manor. 

But Alfred only gives him a smile, his eyes very warm. “Master Jason likes you very much — “ 

That small voice in his head grows a little bit softer. 

-

Dick Grayson’s brought donuts to Titan Tower when Tim needs it the most. Well,  _ half _ a box of donuts that got devoured by Mia since they were for Tim’s group of Titans because Tim’s still working but the sentiment is still there. When Tim finally finishes, Dick drags him to a diner. 

Tim knows that Dick’s checking up on him. When Tim first became Robin, it’s Dick who looked out for him, more than Bruce. Showed him the ropes and taught him the tricks with the reassurance of a consummate big brother. Dick makes everything fun with his puns and wit and bright grins and this time he orders way too many fries and he’s talking about something at the police station when he finally stills — 

“Alfred tells me you’ve been heading to the Manor a lot recently,” Dick says.

Tim only nods. “Yeah, I’ve missed  _ home _ a little bit,” Tim forgets that Dick didn’t grow up in Gotham, didn’t feel Gotham River running in his blood. Dick’s an acrobat, he’s traveled everywhere and in a way, he can set up roots  _ anywhere _ but for Tim, Gotham is — and will always be his home. It’s something that he’s spoken about with Jason, that bone-deep loyalty and love for Gotham City. And — Tim pauses for a little bit, he normally tells Dick everything but talking about Jason seems a little — 

He feels a little bit  _ protective _ . 

“It’s good,” Dick says, plopping a fry into his mouth and munching on it with satisfaction. “I mean — right now there’s been rumors of the Court of Owls. I don’t understand it too much myself but Bruce’s got his hands full and he might be asking us to come and help out pretty soon,” 

Tim’s heard the stories of Court of Owls, the nursery rhyme where the Talon comes for the heads of naughty children. It’s something that’s kept him awake more than it’s put him to sleep when he had been young. Even now, a chill runs down his spine at their mention; it’s an urban tale, a folk story where knowledge brings only fear — he didn’t even think they were real. While the Drakes were one of the leading families of Gotham, his father’s never spoken of it. Though it could be just that the Drakes are  _ new money _ , the old and titled families of Gotham including the Winicks and Nolans and Snyders of Gotham still wouldn’t give Jack Drake (or Drake’s business associates, Morrison and that sycophant, Tom King) the time of day. 

“Anyways, what I’m trying to say is just keep your schedule open, Baby Bird — ” he says, “Hey, how is Bruce doing?” 

“He’s the same as he always is. Stern,  _ quiet _ — “ Tim starts because Batman’s still the smartest man he knows. Absolutely brilliant, intense, and with too-sad eyes. Tim knows he’s a little bit crazy, you don’t get to be a superhero without losing a little bit of your sanity — Tim has so much respect for him, but Tim doesn’t ever want to be him. 

It’s not that Bruce doesn’t care either. Tim’s been rewarded with his rare smiles before and they make a good team. But Batman’s always been more of a commander than a parent. And yeah, Tim’s still Robin but he’s got his distance and he comes when he’s called but their partnership is different than what he’s  _ imagined _ — 

Dick sighs, as if he can hear the disappointment in Tim’s voice. “That’s him alright,” he says. “I came by the Manor a few days ago. To make sure that he’s alright —  _ April’s _ coming up and he tends to get  _ moodier _ than usual, like just last Tuesday, he nearly chewed my head off over a small detail that I missed,” he says. “You know,  _ Bruce’s _ — he used to be a lot nicer, used to order  _ pizza _ before patrols sometimes,” Dick says, wistfully. “Like he was a great dad, back when I was still Robin. Really looked out for me when I didn’t have anyone else, I try and think about that when he’s being a jerk. I used to call him dad in my head, I’d never say it — and Jay — ” he shakes his head. 

Tim freezes because Dick never talks about Jason. 

Dick and Jason hadn’t been close. Dick had told him that the only other time he spoke to the second Robin was when they had gotten ice cream for the first time when Tim’s still Robin and learning all the ropes. He had wanted to know everything back then, it’s just so easy to talk to Dick Grayson, to feel the warmth of his smile and Tim had wanted to be just like Dick. Growing up as the heir to Drake Industries hadn’t prepared him for the easy affection of a family and perhaps it had made living with Batman a little bit easier but Dick was — nicer. “Jay didn’t like the fact that Bruce and I never got along,” Dick had told him between bites of blueberry sorbet back then. “I had the Titans and I wanted to be an adult, and Bruce was — he’s a dad at heart, Tim and he was upset. And Jason at least, he always took Bruce’s side. He loved him so much and because Bruce and I were fighting then a lot back then, I just —“ 

He had looked a little helpless too, “I had been jealous of Jason too because it seemed like Batman  _ replaced _ me with this kid that he was always taking out to brunch and you should have seen him then, Tim. He was a completely different person and he adopted Jason before he adopted me, and I hated Jason for that even though he was just a kid, like I was. Bruce and I — we made up eventually,” he says, “But I’m never going to forget that kid that I should have looked out for. I should have been a big brother for him. I’m not going to make that mistake with you, little bird,” 

And he’s kept his word. 

Now Dick’s shrugging as he steals one of Tim’s waffles with his fork, caked already with sugar. The portions are big and Tim’s not particularly hungry. “Anyways, how are things with you and the Titans?” He asks and it’s a clumsy segue but Tim lets it slide. 

“It’s good,” Tim says and launches into a story where the Titans had to stop Lex Luther  _ again _ . Dick leans back and gives him one of his heart-stopping smiles and Tim chest feels warm. But he thinks about Jason in the library, the fact that if things are different, it could be all three of them sitting together in the diner. For the first time, he wonders how things could be — if perhaps Jason would have resented him at first too, but that they’d make up eventually. He imagines the three of them there, sitting in the diner, Jason with a book on his lap and a chili dog (the password to Bruce’s cave) on his plate, the chili spilling out as he gesticulates wildly. 

But that’s not going to happen. Tim knows his limits, he’s careful, and he’s precise. He’s going to ask Dick about Babs and Dick’s life in Bludhaven. Afterwards, they’re going to play a few rounds of Grand Theft Auto or the new Pokemon game that Dick’s been excited about and then they’re going to go on patrol with an easy banter and a steady rhythm that they’ve worked out. He’s not going to chase after a dream he can’t have. So Tim Drake leans back and eats the last french fry that Dick’s got his eyes set on — ignores the pouty look that Dick gives him because Dickiebird should have been fast enough and leans back with a devilish smirk. Dick’s his brother, he’s allowed  _ this _ reality. 

And that’s enough for Tim. 

The next night Tim goes back to the Manor. He orders an extra box of pizza and places a box next to Batman. He’s not quite sure why he does it but the next morning, Bruce shoots him a quiet “thank you” and gives him one of his small, rare smiles and Tim smiles back. 

-

Tim’s been coming to the Manor a lot more recently. He asks Alfred about his day. He talks to Kate sometimes and even once with Bruce. It has been surreal, Steph would have called it  _ bro-ing _ it out with Batman and that’s a  _ hilarious _ thought if nothing else. Tim finds that Bruce Wayne is, despite the grief cloaking him like kevlar, an easy conversationalist. He’s intelligent and his observations are spot on even though he’s a lot more awkward than what his Brucie persona would suggest. Bruce Wayne is growing on him: his intelligence, his streak of mischief, and the fact that he’s an utterly delightful unrepentant nerd who geeks out over exoplanets, Star Trek and mantis shrimp.

April’s always the worst month of the year but Tim finds that when he makes an attempt, Bruce Wayne (and Batman, to an extent) reciprocates. He asks Tim about how his classes are going, he asks after the Titans, and they spend one sunny afternoon helping Alfred with the gardens. The scene of Bruce Wayne kneeling in the dirt amidst the flower patches, a look of concentration etched on his brow and he’s wearing birkenstocks is an  _ amazing _ picture that Tim sends to Dick and Kon and the other Titans. And the next picture where Bruce is holding onto a ridiculously looking garden gnome and trying to figure out the perfect angle is one he reserves for Dick and Steph. 

He’s summarily rewarded with matching ‘LOL’s and feels his job complete. Dick comes over too and they plan a barbeque on April 18th. Alfred’s got burgers and Dick’ll bring the beers and Tim’s rolling his eyes hard because the way Bruce Wayne dresses is utterly ridiculous but there’s a smile playing on his face and Tim’s suddenly reminded of the socialite in the papers. 

It’s such a normal and textbook family so Tim really just leans back and watches, letting Dick pull him into a hug before watching him argue with Bruce on the best way to flip a burger. Because while Alfred is the domestic hand in the family, he’s also  _ British _ . Tim doesn’t miss the way that Alfred is smiling as he surveys this, it’s classic family or at least the type that Tim’s seen in movies — Tim hopes that it’ll last. 

Eventually Dick lets Bruce do it because it’s hilarious watching the billionaire flail and Bruce is at least a good sport about it. Dick wanders over to Tim who’s lying on the chaise and surveying the Wayne grounds and not-so-discreetly hands him a beer. “You know I’m fifteen right?” Tim asks and Dick shrugs before setting the beer next to Tim’s glass of champagne and then sits on the edge of the chaise. 

“Yeah, so?” Dick grins and steals Tim’s sunglasses before placing them on his own forehead. “I think Alfie and Brucie’s too busy to bother with us right now, might as well enjoy it — ” He gives Tim a wink. And the sky is so blue and the day’s so beautiful and spring is finally coming to Wayne Manor that Tim wants to just lean back and enjoy it, the green grass and the garden that’s cropping up from their hard work. 

Tim takes a sip of beer, he’s never particularly been a fan but the kind that Dick brings home is good. “You ever think that this is what it’d be like if we weren’t getting our asses kicked every night?” He ventures and Dick’s laughing. 

“Yeah,” Dick says. “I think it’d be ridiculously boring but you know what, I  _ wouldn’t _ have minded — if every day was like this,” He sighs and nurses his own beer and Tim’s reminded of an acrobat, sailing across the skies, a young child embraced by his parents, who’s loved and happy — Tim remembers being so  _ jealous _ back then, he had been young and his father’s constantly traveling and how being pulled into a hug by a smiling acrobat had been the highlight of his childhood. He knows that Dick had a  _ normal _ family that loved him, knows that in a way him and Bruce are tied together by a traumatized childhood and mutual grief. But it had been so good to see them all bonding and laughing in the kitchen that day, it had made something loosen up in Tim’s chest. He wants them to be a family — 

He can’t wait to tell Jason about it. 

Or about when later, Dick lulls him into a sense of false security before dunking him into the Wayne pool or when Tim retaliates by using his training and gravity to push Dick down with him. He hopes that in his dreams Jason’ll laugh. He hopes that Jason’ll be proud of him. He  _ hopes _ — 

-

In his dream, he’s sparring with Jason this time. The library’s gone, replaced by one of those rings that he’s only seen on late-night wrestling shows or maybe in his school auditorium. It’s dark and they’re both sweating, analyzing each other’s moves and searching for an opening. None of them are in their Robin uniforms. 

Jason moves fast, he’s restless, and their fighting styles are different but they mesh well enough, having been trained by the same regime. Tim’s learned from Dick how to be efficient, how to flip and leap out of the way while Jason reminds him more of Bruce. There’s power there and despite the other Robin’s small frame, he hits hard and he’s  _ unpredictable _ and Tim has to think fast to dodge the kick.

Dick trains like it’s always playacting but Jason hits hard in a way that’ll leave bruises if this isn’t a dream. Tim thinks that perhaps this is how Jason’s been trained, to  _ hurt _ and to end the fight quickly and effectively, never mind the injuries to himself. Tim’s reminded of how Jason’s different from Dick and himself, Jason’s had to fend for himself for years on the streets and how even like this, even when  _ sparring _ Jason fights with a singular determination to end the fight. They’re both breaking hard and they keep up a string of conversation. It’s fun, in the way that only someone who’s been trained under Batman can find it  _ fun _ . 

As Robins, they’re naturally chatty. It’s part of the charm. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Jason’s scoffing as he ducks in for a swipe, his wild laughter echoing against the auditorium ceiling. “Timbo your taste’s almost worse than B’s — oh my god, you know B has the worst taste in pizza, like with artichoke hearts and spinach and fucking pineapples and it’s so fucking nasty — “ Even in the dim light, Tim can see the light in Jason’s eyes, the way they’re so warm and fond whenever he brings up Bruce. 

Tim’s analyzing the situation, he leaps back and thinks that if he could drag Jason down with his own momentum. Jason favors his right side, he’s realized and leaves his left unguarded. Tim nods, contemplatively. “Don’t diss artichoke hearts, Jaybird” he grins. “They’re healthy for you, maybe you’d get taller if you ate your vegetables — ”

“Well yeah then it wouldn’t be a challenge anymore, hm? I’d kick your ass in  _ like _ , less than five minutes — “ 

Tim spins and then kicks, sensing an opening as Jason reaches in to pull him down only to slam his leg down into the underside of Jason’s ribs. Jason’s eyes flash with approval and he wheezes and doesn’t get back up again. “Hm,” he says, a hand reaching upwards and Tim pulls him back onto his feet. His shirt rides up and Tim’s eyes are drawn to the scars and what looks to be like burn marks — all over his body. Jason sighs, a little too conscious, pulls his shirt down and when he catches his breath and tosses Tim a bottle of water, he gives Tim a look. 

“You’re heading to Sarajevo with the Titans right?” He asks. 

Tim nods, “Yeah — there’s a  _ hacker _ who’s got some sort of a virus meant to destabilize world currency,” Tim says proudly because it’s been his pet project, he’s followed the trail for the past three months and he’s finally got a lead on the guy. Jason looks at him worried and Tim’s reminded of the fact that Jason’s never really been out of Gotham. He’s traveled as Robin before, Tim’s pretty sure, but unlike Dick and himself, he’s never really had that opportunity. And the last time that happened — 

“I’ll be fine, Jay — “ Tim says. “I’ll bring you back a souvenir,” Tim says even though that’s impossible but the sentiment is rewarded with a smile. “I’m careful and I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve done the research on this guy, on his alises, his backers and the Titans’ll be there with me,” 

Jason doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah,” he says, “I trust you. But just be careful too okay? And come back when you can, I know Alfred at least worries and I’m pretty sure B does too — I know he doesn’t really show it but he used to worry about Dick a lot. I’d always tell him that Dick’ll be fine, that if he needs help, we’re just a town away but flying all the way across the world, that’s a — anyways, just be careful out there, Timbo. We need someone to prune the rose bushes, ” 

“Have you ever considered leaving Gotham, I mean when you were Robin?” Tim asks, a sudden, sharp awareness in his voice, and Jason shakes his head. 

“Gotham needs me,” he says, quietly. “And it’s where I belong,” 

“Gotham has Batman,” Tim replies. 

Jason just gives him a soft knowing smile and Tim marvels at the heartbreaking simplicity of it all. 

-

Jason needn’t have worried — the job in Sarajevo takes no time at all and Tim’s heading back three days later. But Tim’s learned from experience that whenever life’s starting to look up for a while, reality throws him a curveball. 

It starts with a phone call from Dick Grayson, “Hey, Little Bird? Are you free right now? There’s a threat on Bruce’s life, normally we don’t really worry about that but this time we think it’s the  _ Owls _ — I can explain it to you better in person,“ Tim can hear a sigh coming from Dick’s voice. “Bruce’s never exactly himself during the last few days of April and it’d be really great if you came,” 

“Yeah, I’ll be right there —“ Tim’s already doing a mental tally of how quickly he can get back to Gotham. The Court of Owls are a fairytale, he’s pretty sure but old gangs and histories seem to always rise up in Gotham, taking on new dimensions; a new spin on an old tale, but nevertheless still rooted in fear, in helplessness, in anger. The song remains the same. Gotham is a city of fear and Tim Drake knows that perhaps better than anyone, except maybe — 

-

“Jason,” he says in his dream. He’s confused, the details don’t quite fit together, like staring at a cracked mirror. Jason’s quietly poring over a copy of T.S. Eliot’s collected poetry. They’re not in the Wayne library, they’re in a warehouse instead. It’s familiar. He’s been here, merely days ago; it’s the warehouse where the hacker had once occupied. He recalls the sordid heat, the rank smell, and the darkness. 

“April is the cruellest month,” he hears the boy say and his voice seems to come from very far away, he’s not speaking to Tim but rather he’s reciting a poem, the  _ Wasteland _ , Tim’s had to read that for school. “Lilacs out of the dead line, mixing — memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain,” He’s smiling to his book, Jason’s curls obscuring his eyes. “In the mountains there you feel free. I read, much of the night and go south in the winter,” 

“Jason?” Tim asks; the boy’s head lifts, it’s not  _ his _ Jason — the boy’s eyes are empty, blank milky-white, without pupils, like  _ pearls _ and wow, that’s a detail that’s going to haunt him. It’s unsettling but Tim feels that he can’t seem to look away. Behind not-Jason, there’s a stack of something dark that he can’t quite make out. It’s ticking. “I — I’m coming home soon to visit, I know you can’t hear me but — ” 

Not-Jason starts to speak again, turns towards Tim and fixates him with a look that pins him down. “Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time,” he says in a strangely subdued voice and Tim finds himself mouthing the next words. He knows this story, he’s heard it before. It’s a story that’s always scared him as a child so he tries to think of something else. 

He thinks of T. S. Eliot's  _ Wasteland _ , a line that’s on the tip of his tongue. 

_ HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME _

“Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime,” There’s a ticking noise, like a clock and Tim takes a step forward, feeling a strange, unsettled fear rising up in his chest. 

“They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed,” 

Tim pauses to look, his eyes widening in shock. It’s a stack of C-2 behind not-Jason, there’s a clock at fifty-three seconds now, fifty-two, fifty-one. Tim finds that his throat is dry and it’s not-Jason’s voice which finishes the line. He doesn’t understand this dream logic, he finds that he can’t move. He’s locked here as there is only him and not-Jason and a bomb ticking away. They’re in Sarajevo. It’s just the two of them. 

_ HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME _

“Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head,” he says and there’s a vicious gleam in his eyes as the clock speeds up, twenty seconds, nineteen, eighteen — 

The bomb’s counting down and Tim’s  _ motionless _ . It’s too fast and he’s gripped with terror as he knows that the bomb’s going to go off. not-Jason takes a step towards him, he’s suddenly far too close and all Tim can see is the milky-whiteness of his eyes, like the filter that they put on their masks. There’s something in his hand, a batarang; Tim watches, dazed as not-Jason brings it to Tim’s throat. Tim finds that he cannot move; he feels the press of the cool metal. It’s okay, he tells himself; if he dies in a dream, he’ll just wake up. 

_ HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME _

“Wake up,  _ Tim _ . Wake up wakeupwakeupwakeup WAKE UP — ” not-Jason’s voice suddenly growing frenetic, rising into a crescendo and his hand slices down. Tim’s eyes fly open before the countdown hits one. 

His hand goes to his neck. He’s in an airplane, not in a warehouse; he breathes in the cool recycled air of the plane and leans back and as his eyes adjust to the darkness, Tim sees the skyline of Gotham rising up to meet him from his window. 

He takes a deep breath, steadies himself. 

_ Or they'll send the Talon for your head _ , he thinks. After that unsettling dream, Tim doesn’t think he wants to be alone. He gives Dick Grayson a call asking to pick him up at the airport. 

Dick Grayson answers almost instantly. “You okay, Little Bird?” He asks, his tone’s warm, reassuring. Tim checks the time on his phone; it’s 10:42PM, April 26th. A minute passes, he remembers how to breath. 

“Are you there?” Dick’s voice asks in concern. 

Tim just nods, shakes and leans into Dick’s voice. He’s okay, he’s awake. He’ll talk to his Jason when he gets back to the Manor. “Yeah, I’m here,” 

-

“He’s not ready yet,” a woman’s voice carries through the gloom. 

The man’s tone is amused. “Oh, I think he is — “

“There’s memories that are suppressed but not gone. His training isn’t even ready, he still relies on muscle memory. He’s in no state to take on the Bat and win. It’ll take at least one year more,  _ sir _ — “ 

“That’s  _ perfect _ ,” the man says. 

The woman stiffens, “What are you planning on doing with him?” She asks, curiosity overriding her fear.

“Oh, our mission is an  _ altruistic _ one. We’re returning one little, broken bird to his family.” 

-

“Hey, Jay —“ Tim asks; they’re in the comfort of the library. It’s  _ his _ Jason with bright eyes and gentle smiles. Not the unsettling one from the other dream. Tim’s safe here. Jason’s got a copy of Jane Eyre in his lap and the soft blanket that covers the two of them. 

Jason turns towards him lazily; there’s a box of pizza next to him. It’s got bacon and jalapeno bits on it and  _ dang _ , that looks delicious. He’s never tried that before. Jason’s already gone through four slices already, there’s a bit of tomato sauce on his cheek and Tim can’t help but smile. He leans over to steal a slice as Jason grabs his wrist. “Uh-uh, no way — get your own box, Timbo,” 

“It’s my dream, Jay —“ Tim says reasonably and moves his other hand for a slice. 

Jason just scoffs at him and shoves the entire box away. “Yeah, but it’s  _ my _ library — ” 

“Sharing is caring, Jaybird,” Tim says reaching over; he’s taller than Jason now and his arms are longer. But Jason’s got sharp elbows that he jabs Tim with. 

“ _ I _ do share,” Jason shoots back, unrepentant. “With B — so there!” 

“Yeah, and I'm your  _ brother _ , you  _ suck-up _ ” Tim scoffs and makes another futile attempt. “Don’t you care about my tragic upbringing without a single bacon sliced pizza?”

“Well, just because you had your own  _ private _ chef isn’t gonna make me feel bad for you, Timbo,” 

Jason’s looking at him and there’s a flush to his cheeks. He looks so  _ alive _ — how could Tim have ever imagined the scene in the warehouse? It makes him guilty; it’s not something that he’s going to tell Jason even though Jason is a figment of his subconscious. If he is, would he already know? It’s a quandary worthy of another watchthrough of Inception, Tim thinks to himself. Later, this will be the image of Jason that he’ll remember, this affectionate boy with a bit of tomato sauce on his cheek who looks at him with so much fondness. This teasing boy that would have been his brother. Tim’s reaching for the pizza box and he only catches it because Jason freezes — 

The grandfather clock in the library chimes quietly. It’s midnight. In the living world, it’s April 27th. 

_ HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME _

Jason’s expression falls, the smile leaving his eyes. He makes a little noise in the back of his throat, he sets down the box of pizza and suddenly curls up against the armchair. “Can you tell me about them?” He mumbles, in a voice so small it is almost inaudible. “ I — do they miss me? Do they — ” 

Tim can feel the tension in his small shoulders, the slow shake that turns into a shudder. He nods, “Alfie and Bruce miss you more than  _ anything _ ,” he confesses, and the heartbroken expression on Jason’s face breaks his heart. Tim leans in, pulls Jason into a hug. A wounded noise escapes Jason’s lips, and Tim feels a burn in his eyes.

“I would come back if I could,” Jason murmurs, a little bit lost and a little bit crazy. His eyes are soft and wet and Tim can feel water that’s soaking into his shirt. “You’ll tell Bruce that won’t you? I’d come back from the dead for him if I  _ could _ ,” and it is so lonely, so full of regret and Jason’s eyes are so large that they seem to swallow up everything in the room. Tim knows that it’ll make things worse if nothing else, because Bruce  _ fixates _ , but telling that to Jason just seems heartless. So Tim only nods, stroking Jason’s back in comforting circles and listens to his soft, broken cries until morning comes. 

-

There’s  _ something _ in the library. 

It’s a hunch, a feeling, a fear that’s growing stronger every minute as the day passes, like a body buried underneath the floorboards, struggling back to life. It’s not something that he can tell Bruce. He sees the way Bruce falls apart, piece by piece, the way his jaws tighten and his shoulders stiffen, the look of hurt in his eyes and the way he lingers around certain things. It’s raining quietly outside and he sees Bruce standing outside in the rose garden, motionless and as still as the Wayne statues that dots this house. 

He knows from experience that the next day, Bruce will pick himself back up again. He’ll box up the memories and the loss and the grief up and remain the implacable scion of Wayne Enterprises, the greatest detective in the world; but on April 27th, he’s allowed to be a little too human. 

It’s pouring outside and he thinks of April showers and how they’re supposed to bring flowers come May. Outside the windows are blurred, blues and greens and grays from the downpour and it’s  _ unsettling _ . He thinks that perhaps it’d be better to return to the living room; Dick and Babs and Alfred have started playing a game of scrabble to coerce Bruce to return inside. The Great Detective’s always been fond of scrabble, Tim knows this from what Jason’s told him. 

There’s something in the library. 

And Tim’s always been too curious for his own good. 

He stills in front of the door; it’s never been opened once in his tenure as Robin. It’s  _ Jason’s _ space, it’s not his ghost. If he is kinder, he will wait for the day to pass, tomorrow — tomorrow will be better, but Tim’s never deluded himself. He presses on with curiosity because that’s what he knows. He’s brought his lock picking kit; Tim knows that there’s other security systems out there, better ones but the library’s locks un-click gently with a soft noise. 

The room is dark. 

He sees rows of bookshelves, dark impressionistic lines in a room, illuminated only by the weak light coming from the large windows. There is a thin layer of dust covering everything and cobwebs in the corners. The room is almost silent as he takes a step forward, steps across the  _ threshold _ — 

He knows from his earlier memories and from his dreams that there are rows and rows of books; Thomas Wayne had a sizable collection of medical texts and histories here and Martha brought her own after their marriage. There are classics bound in leather, first edition volumes, hoarded carefully behind glass, admired and loved — 

His mind flashes to the case in the Cave. 

Tim only continues to step inside. 

He knows that at the end of the library there is a pair of large windows with a view of the Wayne grounds below. It’s Jason’s favorite thing about the place. There’s no noise here, it’s motionless and still, a little kingdom lost to memory; Tim thinks that his curiosity should be satiated; he’s chasing after ghosts and half sick of shadows but this realization should be enough. 

He should turn to go before he intrudes any further. 

He takes a step forward anyways; past the bookshelves and into the main sitting area. He’s not alone. 

There’s a figure standing there, clad in browns and golds and silvers. The windows are open, the curtains flapping furiously with the downpour outside. The figure is slim, clad in all black. Its mask covers its entire face with glowing eyes and a curved beak — he’s clutching a dagger to his hand. He’s motionless before his head turns over to Tim’s direction. 

“What are you doing here?” the figure asks. Its voice is modulated, there’s weird cadences obscuring the actual voice but it’s a male voice. There’s no emotion in its voice. 

Tim shrugs, holds his ground. He’s trained after all and Robins are  _ chatty _ . “Shouldn’t I be asking  _ you _ that question?” He says before pulling his dagger out. This goes against protocol. Tim  _ doesn’t _ know anything about this guy; it’s not like Batman’s Rogue’s gallery has anything on nursery rhymes, what he’s expected Talon to be up until today. If it’s a prank, it’s a very bad one. “This is  _ my _ home,” he says. 

_ This is my library, _ a ghost of a boy whispers. Then Talon strikes. 

Talon moves fast,  _ superhumanly _ so and Tim’s without his uniform, without all the accoutrements of Robin save for his bo staff. But that’s  _ enough _ . Talon lunges for him but Tim’s ready for it, blocking the attack with his staff. Tim’s a distance fighter, he knows how to analyze his opponent enough to figure out an opening — it’s what he’s always been good at. 

But that also comes with knowing the weaknesses of his opponents beforehand, strategies before he’s even set foot into the ring. It’s one of the reasons why he’s sure that Batman keeps him around, because he’s always prepared. But not this time, he doesn’t know anything about Talon, about his motivations, what words Tim could taunt to make him off-kilter. 

Tim squares his shoulders. 

He brings his staff up but Talon spins, anticipating his move and brings a fist crashing down. Before Tim could bring his arm up to defend himself, Talon drives an elbow into Tim’s chest, slamming him forcefully against a wall. But Tim ducks out of the way, ignoring the ringing in his head, his staff raised as he backpedals, keeping space between himself and Talon. 

Talon’s strong despite his small  _ frame _ , and Tim thinks that if he could keep Talon at bay with his staff, the commotion would rouse the attention of the rest of the Batfamily. Tim reaches in for a sideways swipe and Talon leaps gracefully away, claws digging into the wood and  _ yanks _ — 

It nearly sends Tim flying but he lets go of his staff and Talon lets it clatter to the ground, a few feet away. And then, too-fast, Talon’s looming over him and Tim’s thought is how  _ small _ Talon looks before he dives away. He rolls away, gets back onto his feet. 

“Who are you?” Tim asks, warily. “What do you  _ want _ here?” 

But Talon doesn’t  _ speak _ . Instead a knife aimed at him. He dodges as Talon lunges at him and he’s fast but not quick enough. Every part of his body is alight, he feels a dagger pressed against his stomach — a quick end. Merciful. 

The dagger slides into the side of his ribs and Tim screams. And then he hears a voice, “Get away from him,” 

He feels a hand grabbing him and flinging him toward the other side of the room, he’s sure that there’s quite a few bones broken and he’s  _ saved _ . He doesn’t know why except then he twists his head up and in his pain-addled state, he sees two figures striding into the library. 

“You’ve broken into my house, hurt  _ my _ family — “ He hears Bruce Wayne’s calming timbre turn into a snarl, protective in a tone that he’s never heard aimed towards him before. 

Dick’s already rushing over to Tim’s side. 

“Are you alright? C’mon, we’re going to get you out of here, Little Bird — just follow the sound of my voice,” Dick’s voice is reassuring, but there’s a note of desperation in there, and Tim leans into that voice, he’s safe here because Dick’s here. 

The last thing he sees is Bruce Wayne’s hand around Talon’s throat, the figure _struggling, gasping for breath_ _—_ a too _human_ thing. There’s a violent, triumphant gaze that Tim’s never seen before in the Wayne patriarch’s eyes. Batman doesn’t kill, but at this moment, Tim thinks that Bruce Wayne might.

There’s blood pouring from his stomach and because he’s so very tired, Tim Drake allows himself to fall. 

-

He feels like he’s floating on something very soft. He’s unwilling to wake, there’s a warmth here in these blankets and covers — there’s someone calling his name. Dick. Tim, despite everything, knows that he’ll have to make an attempt. He cracks open his eyes and sees his room, opulent yet dark. 

Shadows dance over his bed, the floor, the walls. They’re just trees, he reminds himself. Just trees and wind and the rain. He thinks of Talon in the library, the way that Bruce’s arms reached forward in a way that’s unsettling in the blackness of the night. The incessant rain continues to fall outside. 

When he peaks his head in he can’t see much of anything through the darkness; just small shifting parts illuminated by the speckled moonlight. And Dick is sitting there, waiting for him to wake. He’s perched on the chair; Dick’s never really learned how to sit properly, looking worried and his eyes soften with concern when he sees that Tim is up. “You feeling alright?” He asks. 

“Yeah,” Tim says, he feels wary and out of sorts. There’s a pain at his side and he winces. “How’re you?” And then he pauses, because the way that Dick is looking at him is so gentle, so afraid, and worried that Tim feels a pang of guilt. Because when he had first come to the Cave declaring that Batman needs a Robin, Dick had refused, point blank because he hadn’t wanted to see another kid die in  _ Dick’s _ legacy — Dick who worried about him even before he had known him, Dick who’s his  _ brother _ . Tim had made Dick Grayson worry now. It makes his chest seize up and he reaches out to pull Dick into a hug because sometimes they forget that Dick Grayson, despite his warmth, also needed affirmation. 

“How’s Bruce?” he asks. 

Dick only looks exhausted, bone-weary. He shifts nervously, stares down at his hands. “Bruce is — he’s  _ really _ not doing so well,” Tim feels a pang of guilt in his chest; granted his hunch is correct, and Bruce does care about him and Tim threw aside that trust by going alone and nearly getting himself killed. It’s beyond reckless, it’s not something that he would normally do. Tim feels sick, thinking about lying on the floor, his own blood soaking into the back of his shirt — how reckless he had been, how  _ stupid _ . 

“Is he angry?” Tim ventures and Dick nods, “Not at you,” he says, face reaching forward to tousle Tim’s bangs. They’ve gotten longer, he should probably get a haircut. “Mostly at himself but not for the reasons that you’d expect,” Dick says, and his face is terrible, wrecked. 

“There is something you should know about Talon,” 

-

Tim heads down to the Cave.

He pauses at the doorway, watching the dark light frame the sharp angles of Bruce’s face. He stills his breath but he knows that Batman recognizes him, his head turned behind. The expression on Bruce’s face is perhaps too-soft and Tim just gives him a smile. Then, strong arms draws Tim close and Tim reaches back, hugs Bruce tentatively and then tightly, all hard angles and unfamiliarity. His expression is closed and it hurts, like a half-healed wound. 

“I’m glad that you’re alright, Tim — “ Bruce says slowly, bitter and tired. “I don’t know what I would have done if —” If you died, Tim thinks and he mentally berates himself for the decision to run off to the library. To tempt fate on that one day. 

“Are you holding up, Bruce?” Tim asks, because it feels important to ask. He’s never mastered the easygoing way that Jason says “B” and perhaps it doesn’t feel appropriate to do it here. He’s buying time, working up the energy to ask about the Talon in the Cave. 

Bruce just shakes his head, he looks tired, drawn, and brittle. “I just — ” he whispers. “Let me show you,” he says and Tim follows wordlessly. Dick’s told him that Batman has a thing for self flagellation. So Tim walks, heads deeper into the caves where the cells are kept; he’s seen them before, knows that their purpose is to be indestructible. He knows why Bruce has brought him here, he remembers what Dick’s told him, looking too tired for his twenty three years — 

But it still hasn’t prepared him for the boy lying upon the table wearing Jason Todd’s face. 

He sees the pale skin, the soft curls that fall down and covers his face. Jason’s  _ short _ , small, and looks so heartbreakingly young that Tim’s breath nearly catches in his throat. 

There’s sharp marks upon his neck which looks like they were made by large hands, angry and mottled purple. His eyes are closed and Tim watches the ragged sharp exhale and inhale of the boy’s chest, of  _ Jason’s _ chest, the bandages wrapped around his chest and the scars present on his arms freed from the Talon armor. There’s blood on the bandages of his chest, as if he’s been hit and hit again — Tim doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t wince. His expression doesn’t even break when he sees the thick restraints on the boy’s neck, his arms, and legs. Pinned down under glass. 

Bruce doesn’t keep him waiting, though his voice is quiet, regretful. “I didn’t  _ know _ that it was him,” he whispers, the broken voice of a father who’s failed his son twice over. 

“When I saw you hurt, I was  _ furious _ — I knew that I was going to kill Talon if he had killed you,” Bruce whispers, incredulous and quiet and so soft. “But when I came, he didn’t even fight me, he just stood there — until I grabbed him by the throat. I was going to choke him to death for what he did to you until he muttered my  _ name _ — “ 

His voice grows louder, damning him even more. “And it sounded so  _ familiar _ , I knew that the Court was  _ active _ , I had thought that they were corrupting the memory of a boy that I had  _ loved _ so much, my son, my fault! I thought that the Court, that Talon was in our home and I was worried about you and Dick and Alfred and I hated  _ it _ then — I took the fireplace iron and I — oh, god — when I let him go, he didn’t even  _ defend _ himself,“ There’s tears streaming down his face and Tim reaches forward, places a hand upon his shoulder. But it’s already too late, Bruce was crying, sobs wracking his body as they’re both staring at the body in the room; still and  _ unmoving _ like a corpse on a gurney except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. 

But still  _ alive _ , Tim’s mind supplies. 

“Why didn’t he defend himself?!” Bruce shouts, “Why didn’t he fight back? I didn’t even  _ realize _ , I was supposed to have realized — there were so many clues that something was wrong but I  _ didn’t _ . I was supposed to have looked at the clues, I was supposed to have stopped — Batman  _ doesn’t _ kill! But I would in that moment, I — I was so angry at what it — at what  _ he _ had done to you, I didn’t even realize — “ And he buries his face into his hands and nothing else comes out but quiet, helpless sobs. 

“Yet you stopped,” Tim says, slowly because it’s his job to be strong, to guide them back to reality. It’s his responsibility, he remembers Jason telling him once, to offer  _ hope _ . Because that’s what Robin stands for, a song-bird of morning and light. He had to choose his words carefully, but there’s a chance, there’s a hope that he can offer. “I don’t know much about the Talons, but in your Rogue’s gallery, there’s definitely people who know stuff about brainwashing right?” 

Bruce turns to him, his mind already whirling with the possibilities. “Go on,” he says, slowly. 

“I mean, whoever did this to him despite — you know,” Tim pauses, ignoring the way that Bruce shudders, “Has brought him back. He’s still alive, we just need a way to reverse engineer that brainwashing. Jason might still be down there, waiting for us,” He gives a tentative smile. “We just have to find him,” 

And perhaps it’s hope on his part too because somehow Jason did come back and even if he’s like this right now, Tim thinks that with the right research, with work and time, perhaps they’ll be a family again. The three of them. He doesn’t doubt that Bruce is thinking the same thing. 

Hold on Jay, Tim thinks. We’re going to bring you home. 

-

Dick comes by and takes him out for burgers. 

“It does not do well to dwell in dreams and forget about reality,” he says a little too seriously when Tim tells him what’s been going on and Tim can’t help but grin because Dick Grayson’s always been the biggest Harry Potter fan. He’s wearing a hoodie and a sweatshirt, he’s taken a day off work to visit Tim and Tim’s  _ touched _ . 

There's something solid and kind in his eyes. “You holding up alright, Little Bird?” He asks. “I felt really bad dragging you into this,” he says, an  _ apology _ but it’s not one that Dick needs to give. 

“It’s alright,” Tim responds. “It just means that there’s another chance you know?” He says, gently. “And plus, I think it’ll be good for Bruce too,”

“Yeah,” Dick nods, swallows, his hand clasped around his cup of coffee. “Bruce  _ fixates _ , I think I’ve told you about this before,” he says. “I want to make sure that you’re okay too,” he says, “I’m staying in Gotham to help out, I’ve subleased an apartment near the Manor and I’m taking a week off from work. I always felt like there was more that I could have done,” he laughs, “Plus someone needs to keep you out of trouble,” 

“Look Dick,” Tim murmurs. “It wasn’t your fault okay? I did something stupid and got hurt, but that’s on me — you asked me to help, you wouldn’t have known what was going to happen,” 

Dick sighs and Tim feels a little bit guilty. He’s already lost one brother and Tim knows Dick well enough to know that Dick Grayson doesn’t complain. He doesn’t vocalize his grief, not in the way that Bruce Wayne’s grief seems to suffocate the room. He watches the concern at the twitch of Dick’s mouth, the way he looks a little too carefully over at Tim as if making sure that he’s alright. “Hey Dick, I’m not going anywhere,” Tim says. 

“I know, Little Wing,” Dick murmurs. “But it’s my job to worry about you,” 

_ I’m su’posed ta take care of you, _ Tim thinks. 

-

In the dream, the library has changed.

The books have fallen from their shelves; there are claw marks upon the chairs and a pool of something red on the ground. Yet Jason waits for him, his smile this time a little bit dimmer. Tim wonders if he should apologize to him for messing up his library but he finds that he cannot speak because this Jason looks so vibrant compared to the Jason lying in the cave, eyes closed and breath ragged.

“I really should put my kingdom in order shouldn’t I?” Jason asks and picks up a few books on the ground. “B — always  _ hated _ messes,” 

Tim just blinks at him. “Jay — you — “

“I?” Jason echoes him, “Hey Tim, if you’re going to stand here an’ gawk at me, the least you can do is help,” He goes around blithely in this library of his and Tim wordlessly accepts the book that he’s handed, slots it into its proper place. What could he say to Jason, I saw a book who looked like you, who’s blood identified himself as you who beat me senseless and is now trapped in the Batcave? It sounds absurd, teetered just between utter morbidity and far too much tragedy. 

Instead he watches Jason slotting books again in his library. 

“Hey Tim,” Jason turns towards him when he’s finished, he looks a little bit awkward like he doesn’t know how to breach the topic either. “So I just wanted to apologize for my  _ imposter _ ,” His face turns a little bit into a snarl at the word, it’s not a good look for Jason’s delicate feathers. “That’s not me, you know that right? I’d  _ never _ hurt you,” he whispers. “I don’t really know what’s going on but Alfie’s been worried lately and I need you to tell me what’s goin’ on so I can  _ help _ ,” 

And bless him — Tim sagged down with relief. “Well we think that it’s you. But it’s a brainwashed version of you by the Court of Owls,”

Jason shakes his head. “That can’t be possible,” he whispers, incredulously. “I’m dead,” he says.

“Well you don’t know that,” 

Jason looks at him patiently, “I think I’d know if I was dead, thank you very much, Timbo — I’m still trapped here, aren’t I?“ A look of bitterness crosses his face and Tim tries not to feel hurt by that thought. It’s Jason’s library within his dream and he knows that it’d be better for everyone if Jason  _ came _ back, maybe Bruce would be less sad, Dick he knows, would give anything to reconcile with his Little Wing again and Barbara would give him less pitying looks whenever he caught her looking at him. 

“Do you know how to get out of this library?” Tim asks. Jason shakes his head. 

“Not really,” he whispers. “There might be books out there, there’s tons of mythology about that but I don’t fancy myself Eurydice, you feel? And nobody comes back the way they were, but — “ He squares his shoulders. “I’d come back for you and Bruce and Alfie and I’m sure I’ll figure it out. So tell me have you started looking into my resurrection?” 

Tim shakes his head. “I promised I’d start as soon as I can, I’m still on bedrest technically,”

“’s okay,” Jason shrugs. “I should probably do some reading too, huh — I mean after all, this is a  _ library _ , but there’s got to be a way of coming back, right? If only because I don’t want some replacement inhibiting my body, oh god — have you seen how awful Invasion of the Body Snatchers was?” 

Tim grins, though he feels a pang in his chest. “Yeah, I think it’d be best for everyone if you come back as soon as possible, I’ll start researching the moment I get back. It’d be really good to have you with us,”

“Yeah, I’d have to think of a new vigilante name, after all I’m pretty sure that Robin’s not going to work anymore,”

“I mean — it’s yours,” Tim says. “It could be the fact that I’m just been borrowing it for a little while,”

Jason shakes his head, insistent. “No it’s yours to keep. No hard feelings, especially since I’ll technically owe you my life,” He grins at that. “What about Orpheus?” 

“Well what about Sleeping Beauty?” Tim teases. 

“I’ve certainly got the looks for it,” Jason bats his eyelashes mockingly, but his mouth is split wide into a wicked grin. He’s right, they’re ridiculously long. “What if I acquired superpowers too, I mean if I do come back — that means, I came back from the fucking dead. That’s like Superman-level power. I’d want eldritch powers or some shit, lights to flicker on and off — it’d be so  _ intimidating _ , I could look so badass,” 

“Yeah, that’s probably more realistic than you actually growing taller — “ Tim shoots back at Jason's five feet nothing. 

“Look, dying at  _ sixteen _ before my growth spurt  _ isn’t _ my fault, not all of us have beanstalk genes,” Jason replies amicably. "And you shouldn't be talking - what are you, five four?"

"I'm five eight,"

"Coulda fooled me, Timbo - anyways, it’s time for you to wake up. I fully expect updates when you come back,“ he says. “I — “ he pauses, looking a little less sure of himself. “I don’t feel any  _ different _ ,” Jason says, looking a little nervous. Tim swallows, looking at him. He  _ saw _ Talon, has Bruce’s assurances that this is indeed (and not quite so) Jason. There’s  _ someone _ lying down in the Batcave right now, and he watches as Jason paces in the library, looking down at his hands. 

“Look,” he says, “We’ll get you back — Bruce loves you and he’s the greatest detective in the world. If there’s a problem that can be solved, mundane or magical, you can bet that he’ll know the solution,” His eyes light up, for a moment, before he looks away. “He’ll look for you and he’ll find you,”

“He didn’t find me the first time,” Jason murmurs, and there’s an acute awareness in his voice. “He  _ didn’t _ look, he was busy — he never even looked for me until it was almost too late,” he whispers. Tim’s heard a different story, everyone that he’s asked has told him that it was Bruce who went looking for Jason after he left for Ethiopia. “There’s nothing glamorous about hunting down a runaway,  _ heh _ — he came to Ethiopia to find a nuclear bomb and then stumbled into me, and well — you know the rest“ he grins a little too sadly and blinks a little too quickly, looks down, and wrinkles his nose. There is old hurt, decades-old pain settled in those words. 

Tim’s eyes widen. He shakes his head, resolve heavy in his voice. “He’ll find you this time, I swear to you, Jay — ” 

-

Jason is eighteen. He is lying on a gurney bed, dreaming. He is in comatose, not dead, because occasionally he reacts to very sharp lights and pain. He’s peaceful in sleep, already the wounds and bruises which should have taken months to heal have faded into scars, indistinguishable from the burn marks across his stomach. Tim doesn’t look too carefully, it feels like a violation of privacy. Jason doesn’t move, muscles slack with sleep and like this he looks like a statue, as cold and lifeless as the uniform in the cave. 

He’s not moving, he hasn’t moved since that day in the library but Tim hasn’t given up hope yet. He’s been researching, reading books about psychology, about neuron networks, and post-death returns but none of these examples explains this. 

Yet there’s also the rest of Gotham to contend with. He tells the Titans that he’ll be staying in Gotham for a few weeks — he couldn’t really explain to them the cause of it surely. He knows that Bruce is asking around too, he’s seen him speaking with Zatanna and John Constantine a few days ago between the rest of his patrol. Batman hits harder, a few of the criminals are a bit scared because they know that the Bat’s agitated but Batman doesn’t kill. He does break a few arms and send one drug dealer into shock but Tim’s always there to warn him before going too far. 

In the weak light of morning, Bruce sits next to Jason and reads to him sometimes. Tim hears his voice, slack with tiredness and hoarse but so affectionate as he reads Jane Eyre and Tom Sawyer. Books that Tim’s never been a fan of but he’s seen them looking well loved and well worn in Jason’s library. Once after patrol where Tim watches as Bruce combs a hand through Jason's hair before he hears quiet sobs. Tim shuts the door behind him and resumes his own research. 

-

It’s been nearly two months and the boy in the cave shows little signs of getting better. 

Bruce hovers around him when he can, unable to stay for longer than a few hours at a time. There’s an all-consuming, all-encompassing grief and it permeates throughout the cave; suffocating in a way that Tim can physically feel the weight on his lungs. He’s seen Bruce brooding before, but Tim’s unprepared to see just how painfully helpless that he is. Even Dick’s lost his usual luster, Tim’s heard Bruce yelling at him in the Cave. Dick yells back at first but then it gets a little quieter. 

Tim  _ knows _ that it’s not Jason’s fault. 

But with every hour that passes and with little solution in sight, things get a little bit worse. And Tim feels a little bit more hopeless.

This fear’s starting to permeate even into his dreams. 

“Is there anything that you think can help?” Tim asks for the umpteenth time. Jason shakes his head. “Listen, I’ve told you everything,” he whispers. “I don’t know, but I’ve told you — literally nothing has changed. I don’t feel any different, if I could come back, don’t you think I would have already? I don’t know about all the scientific stuff that you’re  _ obsessed _ with and it’s not like I can do  _ research _ here,” 

“I  _ don’t _ want Bruce to worry or you or Dick,” Jason adds, shoulders hunched. “I don’t want everyone to be upset on account of me. That was the past  _ two _ years, maybe  _ time’s up _ actually for me — I don’t want to give up, but you look like you haven’t slept in a week and I know that B — is  _ miserable _ . Your first priority should be to Gotham — I’m not  _ worth _ that, maybe it’s time for everyone to finally move on,” 

“We’ll figure it out, it’s just taking a little longer than expected,” Tim says, because he knows that he’s smart and that he’s creative and like everything else, he’ll continue keep grinding at it, that he operates with a certainty nothing’s impossible to solve as long as he puts his mind and time to it — the same way he’s trained at being Robin, the same way he's survived the first fifteen years of his life. It might suck now but there’s never been a problem that he hasn’t been able to solve. He's willing to bet his life on it. “I’ll just keep looking, Jay, I’m not giving up on you,” 

Jason just blinks, smiles up at him, small and private, “This might sound really  _ dumb _ but I can tell you about myself. Like you know, then you can tell that to not-me out there and maybe it’ll jog not-me’s memories?” 

Tim smiles and helps himself to some of Jason’s cocoa. “It’s worth a shot,” he lies because he’s heard Bruce reading every night, his voice growing quieter and quieter as the book pile by Jason’s bed only grows larger. 

His eyelids flutter, and he can feel himself rise from the depths of sleep, feel himself becoming aware of the silk against his cheek, the hush of the palace at night, the brightening awareness of the moonlight filtering through the tall windows. Outside, it’s too early for morning but he thinks he hears the trill of a bird. 

-

Batman and Nightwing are called away for an emergency in Gotham City so it’s just him and not-Jason in the cave. Tim steps forward into the makeshift bedroom and finds himself sitting next to Jason’s bedside. He picks up a book from the bedside table before setting it back down, there’s not really a purpose. It’s not like Jason can hear him anyways. 

He stands for a long time on the other side of the glass, watching the boy’s chest rise and fall shallowly, the quick darting of his eyes beneath his closed lids. Yet the muscles of his jaws are slack, his breathing is even. The wounds have all healed, too quickly, far too quickly for normality. But Tim supposes that once you come back from the dead, that all other wounds matter little. 

“You need to come back,” Tim says even though he’s still a little bit scared. “Bruce is worried, Dick’s worried — I’m  _ worried _ . Bruce is getting worse, and sometimes I don’t know if I can get him back,” he says, because it’s something he's worried about, too, and been too paranoid to say out loud. He knows that a little bit of Bruce Wayne died with Jason Todd back in Ethiopia, he knows from the images of the smiling man with an arm curled protectively over his son, he knows from the smiles that Batman used to give Robin — the smiles that he never gets. He’s fine with all of that but he thinks that Jason’s return actually — 

It’s made things a lot worse. Because  _ hope _ is the thing that slowly kills and he wonders if his mistake (because at the end of the day, you always need someone to blame even though in reality there’s nobody to blame and Tim’s clever enough to know that at least) will cost them everything. “Jay, in your stories he sounds so  _ wonderful _ — I’ve never had anyone talk about me like that,” he whispers, a little bitterly. “I get that it’s hard, I don’t know what they did to you but you’re safe here, so — “ He feels tears prickle at his eyes. 

“Just wake up,  _ please, _ ” 

There’s no movement in the cave beside his own. Tim doesn’t know what he’s expecting. But he presses on regardless. 

“He used to call you his little  _ prince _ ,” Tim adds because it’s getting easier to speak, because he’s been worried too; because at the end of the day Tim Drake’s just a sixteen year old kid who wants a family. And isn’t that the worst of it? It’s a stupid, childish dream and his voice grows annoyed, not at Jason but moreso at himself, at his own weakness, his own desire to play hero in a world where logic doesn’t necessarily make sense. “His prince of Gotham, you didn’t tell me that — I overheard that one day when I was a kid, I was so jealous of you — ” 

But his voice died before he could say the words. 

Tim doesn’t expect it, the eyes blinking to wakefulness, the strange amber gleam of not-Jason’s eyes, the ever-stillness because the Jason in his dreams never could remain still for even a moment. He looks at Tim, eyes widening for one second, muscles twitching at the bounds as if testing out a sense of reality that he doesn’t quite understand. He’s trying to sit up, Tim thinks but he’s frozen, unable to move either away or towards Jason. Jason’s eyes turns onto Tim’s and it’s unnerving, the way he looks with a singular intensity, the way he looks like he’s looking right through Tim. 

“What is your request?” Jason’s voice is strangely stilted, the cadence dancing around all  _ wrong _ — he sounds like a  _ child _ . He  _ looks _ like a child, all long curls but there’s nothing in his eyes. 

Tim shakes his head. “My what?” 

Jason  _ doesn’t _ blink. “Your  _ order _ ,” he says again. 

“Just — “ He feels his heart beating wildly in his chest, like all his prayers have been answered but he knows that it’s going to cost him. He just doesn’t know how much. “Just stay right there then okay? Until B — Batman gets back,” There is a fraction of a second before Jason’s head bows. 

“Yes,” he murmurs, voice going soft as his eyes flutter shut again. He’s still, head pressed back against the metal of the table. It’s so unnerving that Tim only just remembers how to breathe. 

-

Bruce looks at Jason ... with _Talon_ with so much affection that Tim feels like an interloper, like he shouldn’t be around, like he’s intruding in their privacy. It’s a hurtful thing in his chest, to know that nobody’s ever looked at him like that, the poisonous jealousy that lurks beneath a quiet joy. Bruce looks at Jason like Jason’s his son, like he’s never looked at Tim before, like Jack Drake’s never looked at Tim before. But while Bruce clings to Jason as if he’s a life raft, Jason doesn’t respond. 

He only stares blankly ahead. 

Tim feels as though someone’s hit him in the solar plexus. A little part of him has always thought that if Jason wakes that they’d suddenly become a good family again. Except Jason doesn’t hug back, he doesn’t even move, doesn’t speak. Instead he’s still as a  _ marionette _ — 

“My son,” Bruce is murmuring, “My son, my  _ son _ ,” and that’s when Jason speaks.

“What is your order?” His tone is clipped, emotionless. And Bruce recoils, like he’s been slapped, body tensing as his shoulders slump, as the tiredness and fatigue creeps back into his expression. He looks like he’s about to cry and Tim feels bad but he had told Bruce that it was a possibility because that was the reaction that this Jason had given him. But he feels bad regardless, like someone’s punched him in the solar plexus, all the air evaporated from his lungs and he turns to go because he doesn’t need to watch Bruce cry. This isn’t Jason, Tim thinks with a start — and it’s cruel to Jason to call him thus. 

“Please,” Bruce is whispering in a broken voice and Tim doesn’t need to see this; he should go but he can’t quite leave just yet. He's sick with it, envy and loneliness and a soft nameless pain in his chest layered over one another like some broken facsimile of a cape, like a stone, pressed too tight against his chest. So he remains, hovering against the door of the Cave. “Please give me my son back,” he hears Bruce whisper, broken and quiet. And it’s when Talon speaks again. 

Talon is still but he only nods, “Do you have further instructions?” and he cocks his head and the expression is just so bird-like that Tim finds himself staring. Staring at the loose curls, the eyes gone cold and blank (and he recalls that dream of him weeks ago, in the library and finds himself shivering.) Tim keeps wallowing around the ball in his throat but it won't go away. He watches Bruce though, the room suddenly feels as if it is standing on the precipice. Bruce straightens up. 

He had known, ever since he was a sixteen, the role he was to fill within these halls.

“Come closer,” he orders, voice calm and flat, but underneath there is something brewing, something working its way up to the surface, and Talon obeys. 

-

Talon is a dark shadow in the corner of the room; Talon’s eyes are blank, there’s no vivacity in them, no light. He seems to be perpetually waiting for something, out of commission when Bruce is not around. Beneath him, his steps echoed, seemed too loud to be contained in this dank holding hall, seemed to reverberate up the walls. 

Talon is staring at him from the other side of the room.

Tim blinks, rapidly; it’s unnerving, it feels like the edge of a fight, the early scent of blood and the night sky. He sees Bruce descend the halls; it’s morning which means that Batman has finished his patrol. “You are back,” he says, a greeting to Tim but he doesn’t look at Tim, instead his gaze traces to Talon, a flicker of longing in those dark blue eyes. “Jay,” he whispers and Talon blinks before nodding slowly.

“Bruce,” he says, his voice is muted, with none of the excited timbres that Jason possesses. Someone as detailed as Bruce Wayne should have realized this, Tim thinks, yet Bruce only gestures to Talon to come closer before pulling him into a hug. Tim tenses for a second, fully expecting a hidden dagger, a knife. He remembers Dick telling him that Bruce’s weakness has always been Jason. When the attack doesn’t come, Bruce’s face splits into a tired smile and he gestures for the both of them to follow him. 

Talon walks with a singular purpose, he does not doubt Bruce, he does not ask — Tim thinks of the sudden flash of the sign, A GOOD SOLDIER, and feels half sick to his stomach. 

They walk up towards the steps; Talon is only slightly taller than Jason in his dreams, broader in the shoulders but still too thin, too short — Talon’s expression is hooded, his mouth pressed into a thin line and Tim thinks that Talon will not show his dimples. His spine is much too straight, Jason’s always exacerbating his shortness by slouching, but Talon’s always watching. While Jason’s very presence commands the room, Talon watches and when Tim finds Talon staring at him, his breath catches in his throat. 

Bruce turns around and there’s a smile he’s never seen before, slings an arm around Talon and says, “Welcome home,” 

Tim says nothing, letting the warm air ghost his skin.

-

Jason doesn’t visit him that night. It feels like a betrayal though Tim’s still figuring out who is the betrayed. 

-

A subtle feeling nudges into his chest when he walks into the study. He sees Bruce sitting there with Talon. Bruce is reading a newspaper and Talon is sitting there, too motionless, too quiet. Tim feels all his suspicions rise but he joins the table anyways. It’s his seat and he’s earned it. He sits down on the chair beside the door, leant forward with his elbows propped on his thighs and his hands hanging loose between his knees. He grabs a bagel and starts buttering it up; Talon does not watch him, Talon only watches Bruce and Tim finds that  _ terrifying _ . 

“Let’s get you something to wear,” Bruce is saying to Talon who stares at him blankly before nodding. “I don’t think any of your old clothes fit,” he says again except Tim already wants to stop him. That’s not Jason, he wants to yell, but Bruce’s always been obstinate, he’s always lived a life of shadows and grays. Tim knows that Batman is astute, that Bruce Wayne is intelligent, but only now does he realize how broken this man is, to try and create a family out of whatever Talon is. 

Tim watches Talon’s soft blink, like he’s trying to figure out how to inhibit the space of a boy gone, watches the sudden light in Bruce’s eyes as his head turns to listen to what Bruce has to say, watches the hesitant smile on Bruce’s lips and the inhuman stillness of something that’s only pretending to be human. That’s not Jason, that’s not his Jason, that’s not Bruce’s Jason. Tim should go back to his room after breakfast, he doesn’t need to watch this facsimile of intimacy. 

But Tim is Robin and Robins are supposed to be brave, their purpose is to help people who are traumatized, people who are grieving, to be a voice of reason and warmth against all the darkness. Robin occupies a special niche in the pantheon, Tim’s known about Robin ever since he was but a boy. Robin is meant to be brave. 

So instead Tim does not falter when he looks at Bruce, a knowing gleam in his eyes as Bruce excuses himself from the dinner table. It’s a gesture of trust and Tim knows that he has to be brave, his argument has to ring clear. Tim’s nothing without his words, without his plans, but it’s hard to meet Bruce Wayne’s eyes. He heads to the study and after Bruce is seated, Tim closes the door behind him. 

He feels it rising in his throat, turning in his stomach, coursing through his veins to the tips of his fingers. It’s bile, hot and heavy and makes him want to vomit, to throw up and cry or punch a wall. “I don’t think Talon is Jason,” he murmurs, it goes against everything that he’s said before, every promise of hope that he’s offered. “I’m sorry Bruce,” 

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I don’t think he is either,” and Tim feels a sense of hope. There’s a heaviness in Bruce’s words, the curve of his back, as if he is carrying a great weight. It looks like paper; as if he would crumple in on himself if one applied the slightest pressure. He thinks of reaching out a hand to rest on his father’s shoulder, but then his hand clenches uselessly. “At least not yet,” Bruce whispers quietly. “He does not remember me, but I have performed every test there is. I’ve taken samples of his blood while you were gone and his scars are still there. I know that this isn’t a clone,” 

“So what are you going to do?” Tim asks; his voice is tight and controlled. 

Bruce’s cheeks are wet. “He is still my son,” he says, his voice hoarse and with a little bit of desperation. Tim had not been there for Jason’s funeral, he hadn’t known either Bruce or Dick or anyone yet, he had been a boy but when he had met Batman for the first time, Batman had been so cold and callous and his eyes had been so  _ dark _ . “I cannot just give up on him,” he says. “There is the possibility that I may never have my  _ son _ back again, but Tim — I cannot just give up on him,” 

“I know you can’t,” Tim tries to say. His purpose is done, he should never have doubted Bruce because Bruce knows. He’s still trying and there’s something quite admirable in that. “But what are you going to do with Talon?” His voice is softer, unsteady, but he tries to keep it kind. The voice that Robin uses whenever there’s a child far from home, a man going into grief, a woman going into shock and all he can do is wait with them until the paramedics get here. There’s a reason why Robin’s the more popular one in Gotham and it’s because Robin at least can afford empathy, Robin is kind. 

Bruce’s mouth tightens. “I’ll keep him in the Manor,” he says. “I cannot keep him in the Cave, but I’ll have him monitored and by my side at all times,” he says. “I must at least try,” Something in Tim’s chest twists, jealousy or tragedy he cannot say yet. 

“I know that you disapprove,” Bruce says, “But you haven’t known Jason — he was so  _ alive _ ,” 

But I do know, Tim thinks. He comes and visits me in his dreams and he loved you so much. He’s one of the brightest people that I know and I can see why you loved him so much. I wish you could see him too - instead of  _ this _ . He wanted to come home, he would have done anything to come back from the dead for you, all he talks about is you. He wants to say this out loud, he wants Bruce to hear it, to know that his grief and his guilt hasn’t all been in vain. That Jason has loved him in his last moments, that he still does — he  _ wants  _ to, but a ghost, a shadow, and a dream is nothing compared to the a living creature with the face of a dead boy but little else. 

“Tell me about him,” Tim surrenders and Bruce gives him a smile. 

-

“Have you considered visiting him?” Tim asks and Jason nods, unhappily. 

Jason’s curls are longer, they’re falling into his eyes now. “Once,” he says. “I used to visit him a lot, except he’d always look so sad — “ Jason says softly. “There was a time I thought he’d never want to wake, then I stopped because I  _ don’t _ want him to die,” 

“And then what happened?” Tim asks hoarsely, remembers Dick’s words at how reckless Batman had been after Jason’s death. He remembers Dick telling him about how Bruce had fallen into a coma for a few days after a particularly nasty wound, how Batman had been so careful once and now — Tim had told Dick that Batman needed a Robin but he’s come to the realization ages ago that perhaps the Robin was never him — Dick had told Tim that he didn’t need to be Robin, had begged him not to yet Tim had been so arrogant then, so childish, believing that he could fix everything, that this narrative could be about him. Except — Jason turns to look at him, and there’s gratefulness and jealousy and wistfulness in his eyes, a flash of dimples. 

Then he looks away, just as quickly. 

“You came and he didn't need me anymore,"

-

“You’re doing  _ what _ ?” Dick’s voice is flat, angry. 

Bruce’s reply is quiet. “I know what I’m doing, I don’t need you to tell me  _ otherwise _ , if you’ll just listen — ” 

“He hurt Tim,” Dick retorts, “You don’t know who this is, it could all be a trap, I’ve faced up against the Court of Owls before and they prey upon you when you’re at your weakest — what if he hurts you or Tim or Babs?” 

“I’ll stop him,” 

“And what about last time, huh? I saw Tim bleeding out in the library on Jason’s death date, don’t you think that it’s just a little bit fucked up how that happened? How timing worked out? The Court of Owls have been around, you’ve faced them as well as I — they’ve a thing for theatrics, god Bruce, how can you be so stupid?”

“I wasn’t the one who told Tim to go to the library that evening,” Bruce says. “And I know that you don’t like Jason but whatever’s going on between the two of you can wait, at least until he gets better — “

“That’s not even Jason, Bruce — “ Dick’s voice rises up. “I never hated him and he knows it. My problems were with you, it’s always been with you and Jay’s — he knows that I loved him, we were brothers for god’s sake Bruce. You know Jason would be furious too if he knows what’s happening, what you’re doing to his  _ memory _ ,”

“I’m doing what any father would do,” Bruce snarls, “I’m bringing him home. I’m giving him a family and maybe, just maybe — “

“You’re being delusional,” Dick says. “You fucked up two years ago, your son died because you were too busy chasing after the Joker instead of trying to help him find his mom and now you’re trying to fix it. And I get that, I get wanting to change the past — my entire childhood dressed up in too bright colors was about that but sometimes you’ve just got to realize that this might be a trap. That there are other people now who can get hurt and I’m not saying that there isn’t the possibility that this is Jason, I’m just saying that maybe you should take a step back and reassess the situation, not send him back out in the streets as your sidekick -- ”

“I’ve realized that for years, don’t talk to me about not changing the past when there is a chance for me, for all of us to fix the worst days of my life, I can figure out how to bring my son back!” Bruce yells. “There may be a chance that it can jog Jason’s memory — maybe retrieve a detail buried deep beneath whatever Talon’s done to him so he can come back to life — I just need you to stay for a little while and watch Tim’s back,“

“In case Talon hurts him again? Yeah, like if Jason is actually in there, do you think he would come back after seeing you hurt? You’ve known Jason, you loved him, do you think he’d be happy with that? Jason would be furious,”

“You don’t get to talk about him” Bruce hisses. “Gotham is my city, I know exactly what I’m doing and if you don’t like my methods feel free to go,”

“And here I was starting to believe all your crap about trust and faith and family,” Dick’s voice rises. “I can’t believe this, after all this time, you may like wallowing in your tragedies Bruce — “

“Obviously you don’t care about this,” Bruce’s voice rises, “You’ve always been jealous of him, get out — GET OUT,”

“I’m not,” Dick sighs and sags down, like all the fight’s gone out of him. “I’m staying for Tim,” he says. “You don’t deserve him, you know that?” He turns and sees Tim staring at the two of them before sighing, runs a hand through his hair. 

“I’m heading out but I’ll be back for patrol. Someone needs to protect Tim and it sure as hell not you,” 

-

Tim tastes blood on his mouth. 

They’re in the middle of patrol, the Penguin’s robbed a bank. Nightwing and Robin are more than enough to take him on with the Bat patrolling elsewhere with Talon. There are things that make sense, the euphoric feeling of flying gracefully through the night skies, the satisfaction of fist hitting bone, Dick’s bright laughter echoing through the night. 

Tim’s trained to be careful, to be precise and calm and protective of himself. He doesn’t throw himself recklessly into battle, he doesn’t have Dick’s showmanship. But he knows what he’s doing and he takes people out gently and with just the right amount of violence. 

He sees Bruce and Talon coming by and Bruce is focused on the two of them, he doesn’t even see one of the Penguin’s goons raise his gun. Tim knows what Talon is about to do a split second before it happens. He wants to yell at the boy, at Bruce to stop, but he’s too far. 

Talon throws a batarang and it rings true. The goon’s screaming, the sound torn like a tendon from his throat as he clutches his neck and Tim watches as the goon collapses. There is something dead in Talon’s eyes, something lifeless, his eyes are like pearls, Tim thinks and Talon does not blink as he watches a dying man fall off the balcony. There are words in his throat because Batman does not kill. There’s something so graceful, so beautiful in the way that Talon throws — 

And so very different from Jason. 

The mobster continues to fall and Bruce is there checking up on Tim and Dick. Dick’s eyes widen, he watches Bruce’s expression change into one from fury to shock to resignation. 

“He’s done this before,” Bruce murmurs, like he’s trying to convince himself. “He’s done this before,” 

Tim thinks of the mobster falling from the balcony, the light dying slowly from his eyes and he thinks of how similar it is to Bruce’s dark gaze. The quiet of the aftermath, the silence of what comes after, the consequences — Tim’s heard stories once, that there had been a rapist named Felipe Gonzales and that the man had slipped (had been pushed) during Jason’s tenure as Robin. That perhaps had been the beginning of the end. He watches Dick’s parted lips, the sudden shock and the strange disappointment as Bruce falls quiet, shepherds them back to the cave. 

As the cowl is removed, Tim sees a weary man staring back at him. “I’ll tell him otherwise,” Bruce says. 

-

In his dreams, Jason’s stopped laughing. He looks sadder, a little bit more faded. Tim doesn’t like the implications of that. 

-

After that incident, Talon is an exemplary soldier. 

-

Bruce speaks to Talon with kindness, he looks at Talon with a softness in his eyes. It’s been two months since Talon’s killed and he’s killed again, but always by accident. At least that’s what Bruce says. There’s a smudge of soot on his forehead that Bruce brushes off, an easy proprietary gesture. 

“Good work tonight, Tim,” he says and Tim smiles at him. He hadn’t questioned Bruce once that night. “Yeah, no problem Bruce,” He gets some sleep and Jason doesn’t appear. 

It’s getting easier. 

-

Outside, the air is very warm and the sun streams in through the windows. They’re gearing up for a summer picnic and Tim spends the entire morning stringing up streamers and frosting cupcakes with Alfred. Alfred teaches Tim how to make frosting, how to color them. Dick’s planning on heading back with the Titans but for now he’s staying, him and Bruce have a sort of detente and Tim knows that Dick’s going to come back on his motorbike with burgers and beer. 

Tim considers his domestic duties finished and so he heads outside. It’s so normal and it’s actually nice. Tim thinks he likes seeing everybody get along, Bruce looks genuinely happy as he’s taking a turn at the grill. As always, Talon follows behind him, his face blank but he’s watching Bruce work and listening as Bruce explains how to flip a burger. 

“Hey, Timbo — “ Dick says, a beer in his hand. “You want one?” He asks, sitting it next to Tim’s table, his shoulder pressed against Tim’s own. Tim just grins and clinks his bottle with Dick’s because at least they can have this. Tim’s reasonable, he’s pretty much already given up any hope of the three of them being together like brothers because Talon hasn’t changed at all. But they’ve made do. He guesses this is their life now, but he also guesses this has to be their life — that they're only human, that they don't have any other choices other than to try to keep going.

“Technically we’re not supposed to be drinking but Alfie doesn’t mind,” Tim laughs but it catches weirdly up in his throat. Tim feels that Jason, the actual Jason would have loved this. He’s glad that at least Dick’s around, trying to create a semblance of normalcy even though — “This doesn’t feel right,” he admits to Dick because Dick’s the only one who understands. Perhaps Dick’s always understood because he pulls Tim into a hug and Tim leans into his embrace, smelling the scent of sweat and warmth and hugs a little bit tighter. 

There’s the shadow of a boy in the cave and a boy in a dream and Tim doesn’t understand — he doesn’t know what’s going on but he’s continued his research in secret. There are books on neural connections, networks, and memories in his bedroom and ordered from Amazon (because he’s not setting foot in the library again.) 

But instead he turns and watches as Talon tries a hot dog, the look never changing despite Bruce’s hopeful smile. There's an urgency simmering under his skin and he doesn't know what to do with it, how to deal with it, and he wants to kick over the table and scream.

Instead he leans back, he sets his ghosts to the back of his mind and takes another drink. If anything, watching Bruce Wayne eat a hamburger with a fork and knife is hilarious. 

-

“You have to tell him,” Jason murmurs, pacing in the library, his voice full of panic, hair in complete disarray and blue eyes brimming with tears. “You have to tell him that’s not me, I get that he’s happy — but that’s not me, Tim,” 

Tim watches him quietly, the smile is almost completely gone from his face. There’s a desperate hunger in Jason’s expression and Tim knows how it feels because he’s experienced it himself. The way that Jason looks reminds him of how he looks at himself in the mirror sometimes, young and afraid and fearful of being forgotten and replaced; there’s so many stories that Jason tells, he tells them every night to Tim and still has more. Tim thinks it’s awful how Bruce takes these territories, takes this boy and replaces him with a ghost — 

“I’ve told him before,” Tim says, recalling the sudden anger whenever someone brings up Talon, the fact that Dick Grayson can’t get a single word in. It’s not that Tim’s a coward, Tim knows how to be brave. Tim knows how to make the right decisions. “He loves you,” Tim says. “He’s not replacing you,” but even that seems like the wrong thing to say.  _ He loves me too,  _ Tim thinks, tries to convince himself. He’s slack jawed, wishing that he has the right answers — there’s peace for the dead, he thinks again, and none for the living. 

Jason makes an irate noise, and his face falls. His voice falls into a soft murmur, almost like he’s speaking to himself. “Bruce’s always wanted a good soldier,” Jason says. “And I wasn’t that,” he admits. It feels like an uncomfortable confession, Tim presses closer because he’s heard the stories. “He let me get away with everything that I wanted but I could tell that he wasn’t happy. I disobeyed a lot and I made him angry but I thought that if I loved him and that he loved me, then it would be enough,” 

Tim shakes his head. “It was enough, I’m sure — you were a child,”

“And so are you, Tim,” Jason replies, face serious and sweet, despite all the sadness. “I’m glad that at least Dick is looking out for you,” 

Tim just swallows hard; he’s seen the plaque in the Cave, the absence of everything related to Jason in the Manor. He knows that Bruce mourns, he knows that Bruce’s convinced himself that Talon’s his son, he knows how deeply and fiercely Bruce loves and he knows that if anything, he’s grateful that nobody’s ever loved him like that. He doesn’t think he could bear it. 

“Does he like not-Jason more than me?” Jason asks and it’s so soft and lost that Tim shakes his head vehemently. 

“That’s not true,” he says. “I think he likes Talon more than me, but never you — “ 

Jason makes a soft, unhappy noise. “He’s always wanted a good soldier,” he says and the words sound a little too familiar to Tim, the same voice whispering at the back of his consciousness. 

“That’s not true,” Tim retorts, moreso to convince himself. He wants you.

Jason gives a strangled laugh. “A good soldier’s better than a son who always disobeys orders, who’s reckless enough to get himself killed,” 

Something twists inside his belly, something panicked and deadly. Enough. “That’s not true,” Tim whispers and Jason just gives another chilling laugh, form twisting into Robin, until Tim’s staring at his own reflection. 

“He’s only ever wanted a good soldier and you know it,” 

Tim shakes his head and closes his eyes. He steadies himself and opens them again and instead Jason’s looking at him with concern. “You didn’t need to hear that,” he says, looking so guilty. “Bruce is — he’s  _ great _ . I just — ” 

“No, that’s alright,” Tim replies. “I — he loves you,” Though it feels like he’s speaking more to himself. 

Tim swallows hard. Everything’s going to be alright, he tells himself, but he’s seen the way that Talon hasn’t changed at all in the months that he’s stayed with them, the way that Bruce doesn’t look too closely, the way that the gleam in Jason’s eyes is slowly fading. The way that Bruce seems so fixated, the way that Dick’s smile is fading, the way that Talon is there. The realization, the premonition that they are heading towards a collision course and the boy in his dreams may be nothing but a boy in his dreams. 

He wakes up to his heart pounding. 

-

That night he goes down to the Cave. There’s something quiet about Talon, about how when Bruce isn’t around Talon is practically a statue, silent and unmoving. Eyes unseeing. 

Tim pauses for a second. He wants to ask:  _ Jason? Can you hear me? Is any part of you still around there? I’m so afraid, Jason and I have no fucking idea what to do. I don’t know how to save Bruce for you. I know that you loved him. Were you happy here? How long was it, the time when you thought he placed the sun in the sky and when you were sick of his hypocritical ways? He couldn’t forget you, nobody could and you haunt me in my dreams still. And in my dreams, you adore neapolitan ice cream and loved books and we were brothers.  _

He does not say a word. 

Tim watches seconds pass, listens to the soft sounds of the alarm clock like it’s the ticking of a bomb. 

__  
end.  


**Author's Note:**

> anyways tl;dr: is jason even real???? is he just a figment of tim's imagination and fear and anxiety?? nothing is resolved!! sorry bruce, tim, jason and alfred. : ( my next fic will b happier. ty for reading and have a great day.


End file.
